Cecilia's bed, and made for the door, having the pleasure,
as he shot the bolt, of hearing precisely what the younger Miss
Rainham thought of him and all his attributes, including his personal
appearance.

"A nice gift of language, hasn't she?" he said. "Inherits it from
her mamma, I should think." He put his arm round Cecilia and held her
closely as they went downstairs, his face full of the joy of battle.
Wilfred was nowhere to be seen, but by the door Eliza waited. Bob
slipped something into her hand.

"I expect you'll lose your place over this, Eliza," he said. "Well,
you'll get a better--I'll tell my lawyer to see to that. He'll write to
you--by the way, what's your surname? Oh, Smithers--I'll remember. And
thank you very much."

They shook hands with her, and passed out into the street. Cecilia was
still too shaken to speak--but as Bob pulled her hand through his arm
and hurried her along, her self-control returned, and the face that
looked up at his presently was absolutely content. Bob returned the look
with a little smile.

"Didn't you know I'd come?" he asked. "You dear old stupid."

"I knew you'd come--but I thought Papa would get there first," Cecilia
answered. "Somehow, it seemed the end of everything."

"It isn't--it's only the beginning," Bob answered.

There was a narrow side street that made a short cut from the tube
station to the Rainhams' home; and as they passed it Mark Rainham came
hurrying up it. Bob and Cecilia did not see him. He looked at them for
a moment, as if reading the meaning of the two happy faces--and then
shrank back into an alley and remained hidden until his son and daughter
had passed out of sight. They went on their way, without dreaming that
the man they dreaded was within a stone's throw of them.

"So it was that," said Mark Rainham slowly, looking after them. "Out of
gaol, are you--poor little prisoner! Well, good luck to you both!" He
turned on his heel, and went back to his office.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW TOMMY BOARDED A STRANGE TAXI

"We're nearly in, Tommy."

Cecilia looked up from her corner with a start, and the book she had
been trying to read slipped to the floor of the carriage.

"I believe you were asleep," said Bob, laughing. "Poor old Tommy, are
you very tired?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Only I was getting a bit sleepy," his sister
answered. "Are we late, Bob?"

"Very, the conductor says. This train generally makes a point of being
late. I wish it